Elevenses
by forthrightly
Summary: She's an officer and a lady. He's an assassin and a gentleman. A collection of moments that bring them close to something like friendship... and closer to something like love. Misaki Kirihara x November 11.
1. Introductions and Impressions

**Summary: **She's an officer and a lady. He's an assassin and a gentleman. A collection of moments that bring them close to something like friendship... and closer to something like love. Misaki Kirihara x November 11.

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection of moments... especially for the one who ends up surprised. I doff my cap to Tensai Okamura, who's responsible for the memorable characters in _Darker than Black_.

**Author's Note: **This string of drabbles was begun shortly after watching the first season of the _Darker than Black_ anime. After all was said and done, this was the ship to float my boat. Since they've been written for a drabble community, installments will be short; however, they'll work together, offering a sort of progression.

* * *

**Introductions and Impressions**

* * *

**- 1 -  
****Imposition**

Section Chief Misaki Kirihara gazed steadily at Jack Simon, assessing the British agent before giving her full attention to the briefing. Cooperation with international organizations was par for the course when one worked in the Foreign Affairs Division, but she had a sneaking suspicion that _this_ assignment would prove more troublesome than most. The blond man's manners were too calculated for her tastes, and the careless ease with which he wore his three-piece suit had her mentally profiling him. _Spoiled. Flashy. Smug. _

He turned to her with an affable smile. "I'm in your hands, Misaki."

Her eyes widened at the blatant familiarity of his address. This was not the clumsy mistake of an inept foreigner. His was a willful breach of custom. "The name's Kirihara," she corrected sharply.

Agent Simon's blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "Of course," he replied, offering an apologetic bow and gesturing for her to precede him through the door. As she passed, he murmured, "...Misaki."

* * *

**- 2 -  
****Professionalism**

It didn't take long to size up Misaki Kirihara. She was very neat in clothing, hair, and figure. Behind her glasses, intelligence shone in serious brown eyes, and she obviously garnered the loyalty and respect of the officers under her command. He pegged her as a prude who lived for her job, and nearly yawned over the insipid waste of her duty-bound existence.

However, all that _really_ mattered was the fact that she was capable... and predictable. The last thing November 11 needed was to worry about a willful streak on the part of his official escort. This game would be played by his rules, and as much fun as it was to ruffle Misaki's feathers, if she interfered with his mission, he wouldn't hesitate to eliminate her.

* * *

**- 3 -  
****Posturing**

"You're a contractor?" Kirihara asked dazedly. Taking in the carnage and Jack Simon's companions, she amended, "Both of you?"

"Very good," he applauded, slowly closing the distance between them. "These two are April and July, and I am known as November 11."

"November 11," she echoed, her gaze straying to the dark-skinned woman with vibrant blue hair and the small, grey-eyed boy holding her hand.

He smirked and lowered his sunglasses, studying the police officer's face, not wanting to miss the change. How many times had he seen it? Shock. Fear. Loathing. _I've shown you my true colors; show me yours. _The surprise _was_ there, glazing Kirihara's eyes for one unguarded moment, but then the gears of her mind were turning, and she snapped to attention, flinging orders at her subordinates. And so, the surprise was his. _Is she a fool? _Even her supervisor had cringed before him. In a calculated move, November 11 eased into Misaki Kirihara's personal space and quietly announced, "I could kill you, you know."

A shadow of fear flickered briefly across her face before grim determination displaced it. "What good would that do you?" she challenged fiercely.

_Not such a fool after all. _She understood how contractors operated—always rationally. He was satisfied with her acknowledgment of the threat he posed; lucky for her, his was an empty one. With a congenial smile, November 11 backed down. "Just kidding!"

* * *

**End Note: **This set of drabbles was written for the Live Journal community fanfic(underscore)bake-off, a multi-fandom drabble contest that limits all entries to 100-300 words. Their Secret Ingredient for May 2010 was Willful, and the above drabbles are 159, 128, and 234 words respectively. Posted on May 23, 2010.


	2. Risks and Rewards

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection of moments... especially for the one who is relieved. I doff my cap to Tensai Okamura, who's responsible for the memorable characters in _Darker than Black_.

* * *

**Risks and Rewards**

* * *

**- 4 -  
****Concern**

There was a wistfulness in the young boy's grey eyes as he relayed his message. "He said if something happened, to tell Misaki."

"November 11?"

July nodded. "He didn't come back."

"Show me!"

1-1-1-1

She commanded and countermanded until, by sheer force of will, she got what she wanted. Organizing a rescue took time, and she feared it was too much. Then, July calmly pointed to the rundown building and met her anxious gaze. "He's here."

The dull thud of boots, the readying of weapons, a raised hand, a signal. With well-oiled precision, the task force battered through the final door and stormed the room, Kirihara close on their heels. At the sight of Agent Jack Simon, a wave of relief washed over her. _He's alive._

The perpetrators eluded arrest, but Kirihara was privately relieved they'd simply run for it. One powerful contractor could take down an entire team, and there had been two. She knelt beside November 11, who definitely looked worse for the wear; hair rumpled, tie askew, and a bruise already coloring one side of his face.

He smiled pleasantly. "I was beginning to think you stood me up."

"You're welcome," she muttered, testing his bonds.

"Oh, I _am_ grateful," he assured as the ropes loosened and fell away. "I'm a contractor, after all. Tools are expendable."

"Don't say that," she snapped.

November 11's fair brows lifted, and clear blue eyes searched her face, weighing her response. In his bemusement, he offered no pithy rebuttal; instead, he stood, rolled his shoulders, then inspected the wreckage of his suit coat.

When she moved towards the door, he fell in beside her, his hand at her elbow. She would have pulled away, but the touch was as fleeting as his words. "Thank you, Misaki."

* * *

**- 5 -  
****Interference**

Kirihara dove for cover and reloaded her gun, cursing her luck. She'd become separated from her team, and while she could honestly say she'd pinned down the location of their culprit, in truth, _she_ was the one who was pinned down. As soon as she broke cover, she knew it was a mistake. He'd been waiting.

This contractor's special ability created localized earthquakes, and a sizable tremor tossed her to the ground as it cracked pavement and burst water pipes. Clutching her gun, she tried to take aim, but it was all Kirihara could do to keep from biting her tongue. Her radio hissed and chattered to life. _"Chief...! Where are you? Chief!" _

Her attacker strolled out of an alley, and for an instant, the world stopped moving. Kirihara desperately brought her gun up, too willful to give in to the inevitable, only to feel the ground drop from beneath her, then heave up, slamming the breath from her body. Losing her grip on her weapon, she struggled to keep a hold on consciousness. The contractor sneered down on her; then suddenly, his expression grew wary.

Kirihara struggled to prop herself up on an elbow, straightening her glasses as she followed his line of sight. Coming towards them from the other end of the street was November 11, and the gleam in his blue eyes wasn't quite human... or perhaps something _more_ than human. As soon as his polished shoe hit the edge of the puddle formed by spraying water, a cold smile curved his lips, and frost raced along the ground toward them. It crackled all around Kirihara, chilling the air but leaving her untouched. Not so for her attacker; his final scream echoed off the surrounding buildings as the blood froze within his veins.

* * *

**- 6 -  
****Courtesy**

"Misaki," he greeted, extending a hand.

Dazedly, she took it, allowing him to haul her to her feet. "November 11," she returned, quietly amazed at how warm his fingers were against her skin.

Casually, as if he hadn't just killed a man, the MI6 agent glanced at his watch. "Join me for elevenses?" he invited. At her blank stare, he elucidated. "_Tea_, Misaki. You look as though you need warming up."

Since he was right, she nodded. Distantly, she wondered how hard she'd hit her head and if she was in shock, for she failed to voice any complaint when he lit a cigarette, smoking it as he guided her along the narrow road.

1-1-1-1

Once her hands were wrapped around a steaming cup of green tea, Kirihara was thinking more clearly again. She alerted her men to her disposition and left the clean-up to them, then turned her attention to her companion. November 11 sat across from her, nibbling daintily at mochi.

There was no reason for their paths to cross any longer. He and his partners were at MI6's beck and call, and while the contractors were still in Japan, they no longer required the cooperation of her department. "Why are you here?" she inquired briskly, convinced it was no coincidence.

He shrugged and returned the question. "Why are _you_ here, Misaki?" His graceful wave encompassed the small shop.

"You invited me."

"Do you often accept invitations from known murderers?" he inquired conversationally.

Kirihara frowned at this. She _had_ just seen him kill a man in cold blood—literally. Yet in so doing, he'd saved her life. "Are you saying I'm wrong to trust a person like you?"

November 11 shook his head, an oddly quirked smile on his lips. "There you go again... treating me like a person."

* * *

**End Note: **This set of drabbles was written for the Live Journal community fanfic(underscore)bake-off, a multi-fandom drabble contest that limits all entries to 100-300 words. Their Secret Ingredient for May 2010 was Willful, and the above drabbles are 294, 296, and 299 words respectively. Posted on May 23, 2010.


	3. Cabanas and Cooperation

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection of moments... especially for the one who has a job to do. I doff my cap to Tensai Okamura, who's responsible for the memorable characters in _Darker than Black_.

**Author's Note: **I've borrowed enough from canon to set things up. Be warned... I'll be winging off on my own. From this point, I'm making it up as I go along.

* * *

**Cabanas and Cooperation**

* * *

**- 7 -  
****Undercover**

Misaki Kirihara fidgeted with the edge of her sarong, which kept falling open, revealing the smooth length of one thigh. A floppy hat shielded her face from view, and from behind the privacy of dark sunglasses, she watched her target. A waiter stopped by her table with his tray. Sliding a fruity concoction before her, he murmured, "You need to stop hiding under this umbrella, Chief."

"I'm not _hiding_."

Kouno glanced towards the bar where his partner Saito was mixing drinks. "Sure, Chief... but this would be an ideal time to approach her. Why don't you try moving into the lounge chair next to hers... since it's empty...?"

"How about this," Kirihara replied crisply. "I'll do _my_ job; you do _yours_."

"Y-yes, ma'am," her subordinate murmured, then with a token bow, he hurried back to his post.

_Why is this so damn hard? _The woman she needed to approach had already been contacted through proper channels. A statement had been given, and her claims to ignorance regarding her boss's under-the-table dealings checked out. But Kirihara was sure the woman was lying. _In the first place... no one could be __that__ oblivious, and in the second... a mere secretary shouldn't be able to afford luxuries on this scale. _

The secretary looked completely at home in the midst of an elite spa. She also gave off a definite 'bimbo' vibe, her oiled curves covered with less fabric than there was in the cocktail napkin that had come with Kirihara's drink. _She was probably his mistress_, Kirihara decided uncharitably.

"Such a sour expression, Misaki!" chided a cheerful voice.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she hissed as Agent Jack Simon pulled out a chair to join her at her table.

"Let's call it... international cooperation!"

* * *

**- 8 -  
****Give a Little**

"Cooperation? On whose orders?"

"Oh, the higher-ups. Strings were pulled... favors called in... tokens traded... and here I am!"

"Well, go away. I don't need you for this job!"

"No?"

"No!"

"So you have everything well in hand?"

"_Completely_ under control."

"You've made contact, then?"

"Almost."

"So... _no_. Who's the target?"

"That's privileged information."

"Misaki, if you make a quick call, you'll find that I have all sorts of privileges. Now, which one?"

"Third lounge chair from the left side."

"Mmm... you don't say. And what information are you after?"

"You barged in here without a briefing?"

"I know just enough to be dangerous. Tell me a little more, and I can be delicate."

"Hang on, it's my job to get her to talk."

"Then I suggest you do the right thing and delegate the job to me."

"Why?"

"Misaki, you're ill-equipped for the task."

"I am quite capable...!"

"I didn't say you weren't capable; I said you're not equipped."

"What's the difference?"

"Brief me, and I'll gladly demonstrate."

* * *

**- 9 -  
****Get a Little**

While Kirihara relayed the particulars, November 11 stole her melting drink and took a long swig, making a face. "There isn't any rum in this!" he protested.

"I'm on duty."

"You're supposed to be relaxing by the pool, meeting new people, and getting chummy with them," he countered. "Shedding a few inhibitions might have helped that along."

Ignoring the unsolicited advice, she asked, "Are you clear on what's required?"

"I know enough to get started," he assured with an easy smile. Standing and unbuttoning, he quickly revealed more than Kirihara wanted to see, and she averted her eyes. He chuckled as he draped the shirt over a chair. "Since you can't look at me, watch this instead." Then, he crossed to the pool and dove in.

She couldn't believe how fast it happened... or how easy he made it look. He stayed in the pool just long enough to get artfully wet, then pulled himself up over the edge right in front of their target. The bikini-clad woman lowered her sunglasses when he addressed her, and Kirihara wished she was close enough to hear what was said. He claimed the lounge beside hers and struck up a conversation, and within minutes, he had _all_ of their target's attention. She flaunted. He flattered. He flirted. She fluttered. The whole dance didn't even take long enough for the man to risk sunburning his fair skin.

Several whispers and token smiles later, and the 'bimbo' sashayed towards the rooms. When Jack Simon crossed to the bar, Kirihara relaxed. _Good riddance. _The agent returned with two drinks balanced in one hand, but he didn't offer either to Misaki; instead, he collected his shirt. Confused, she asked, "You got the information?"

"I have opened up the avenues of communication," he replied amiably, and turned to go.

* * *

**- 10 -  
****Duty Calls**

"Wait!" she blurted. Almost before she realized she she was doing, she was in front of November 11, blocking his way.

He stooped slightly to see under the brim of her hat. "Problems, Misaki?" he inquired sweetly.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Room 121."

"What for?" she sharply demanded.

"Let's not cause a scene," he urged softly. "Surely you can understand that _some_ things are best handled _in private_?"

Kirihara wrestled her impotent fury to the ground and quietly countered. "She's just a civilian. Don't kill her."

"Misaki," he crooned, managing to sound disappointed in her. "All I've done is buy a drink for a lady."

"That's not all she's expecting, though," she said, bravely meeting his cool blue gaze.

"It's not, no," he conceded. "However, that woman will never know I'm a contractor, and ignorance _can_ be bliss."

Kirihara's cheeks flamed. "Fine," she muttered, stepping back, but this time, _he_ stopped _her_.

"I must inquire... is there any chance you're applying for a position as my conscience? I've been without one for quite some time, and you seem to be conscientious enough for two."

"I _have_ a job," she snapped.

Lifting the drinks in a token salute, he winked and said, "As do I."

* * *

**- 11 -  
****A Drink for a Lady**

Kirihara retreated to her umbrella-topped sanctuary and dropped into her chair in the most unladylike manner. Glowering, she reached into her bag for her cell phone and checked her messages. Sure enough, there was one from her supervisor about the MI6 agent's last-minute , the terse message implied that this was a token trade-off. Agent Simon was assisting their department with the understanding that she would be assisting him on one of his cases in the near future. Details to follow.

As she scrolled through the rest of her, Saito arrived at her table and placed a drink in front of her. "Agent Simon ordered this for you, Chief."

"Is there liquor in it?" she asked sharply.

"Yes, ma'am," Saito replied, cringing a little. "He said—and I'm just _quoting_, Chief—but he said you'd probably be wanting it now."

He hovered uncertainly, and Kirihara glared at him over the top of her sunglasses. "Was there something more?"

"N-no, Chief. Excuse me." With a hasty bow, Saito rushed back to the bar.

The drink was icy and sweet, with an underlying tartness, and by the time Kirihara reached the bottom of the glass, most of her irritation had dulled considerably. She was seriously considering ordering a second glass to see if it would rid her of her lingering unhappiness, but just then, November 11 strolled onto the patio, smoking a cigarette. Taking his seat, he offered her a relaxed smile.

"That didn't last long," she said waspishly.

"Insubstantial things rarely do."

"Did you learn anything useful?"

"Yes and no," he replied. "The damsel is in distress, and I'm afraid she's in no fit state to be seen by your men."

"Why?"

"Room 121," he reminded, holding up a keycard between two fingers.

Snatching it from him, she hurried away.

* * *

**- 12 -  
****Jilted**

The minute Kirihara was through the door, she could hear the woman's syrupy sweet voice from the direction of the bedroom. "Ja-ack! Hey, Jack? Where'd you go?" Slipping through the open door, she realized that the woman was in the _en suite_, from which emanated the sound of a shower. "Umm... Jack? Can you give me a hand? Please?"

_Damsel in distress, is it? _Steeling herself for what might be waiting, Kirihara rapped lightly on the bathroom door and called, "Excuse me, ma'am? Is there a problem?"

"Oh! Are you from maid service?" exclaimed the woman. "This is _so weird_! The shower door is stuck... and the glass is _cold_!"

Kirihara peeked into the bathroom and gasped. Steam rose thickly over the shower door, whose surface was crazed with delicate patterns like hoarfrost. Ice sealed her inside the stall. "I'm sorry, ma'am. There was a glitch in the air conditioning system," she invented. "Maintenance is already working on it."

"Was Jack out there?"

"Who?"

"This guy I met... he was here a little bit ago," the woman pouted. "I wonder where he went?"

"There's no one else here."

"Well, phooey. So... how do _I_ get out of here?"

"Did you try turning the hot water on the door?" Kirihara asked blandly.

"Oh, that's so _smart_!"

The sheen of ice trapping the woman was very thin indeed, and she only stayed long enough to be sure that the spray was effective in melting it away. If what she'd seen was a token of her cleverness, then her proclamations of ignorance rang true after all. _What do you know, she really __is__ clueless_.

* * *

**- 13 -  
****Getting Personal**

November 11 wasn't waiting under her umbrella, but it only took a moment to register the fact that an ashtray had been added to the table and his shirt was draped over her bag. Then, droplets hit her back, and she turned in time to catch the agent flicking more water at her from the pool. He swam to the side and pulled himself up just enough to rest his arms on the edge. "And?"

"She seemed very disappointed in you."

"I doubt she'll dwell on me for long," he remarked offhandedly. The MI6 agent's fair brows lifted inquiringly. "Are _you_ disappointed in me, Misaki?"

She frowned, then shrugged. "Surprised, I guess."

He assumed a hurt expression in token with his injured dignity. "She wasn't my type," he haughtily informed her.

"You have a type?"

Raking his fingers through blond hair made dark by the water, November 11 challenged, "Why wouldn't I?"

Her frown deepened as she considered her response. "I thought that contractors were no longer influenced by their emotions. To have a _type_... that implies attraction, and love isn't rational."

"Love, hmm? That _would_ be impulsive," he drawled. "But who said anything about love?"

She drew herself up. "But... if attraction could be impersonal, then you wouldn't _need_ something as personal as a type. Since you're putting your own interests first, wouldn't you simply take what you want wherever you can get it?"

"And there's the crux!" he countered triumphantly.

"Which part?" she asked suspiciously.

"My interest!" In one smooth motion, he pulled himself up over the edge, shedding water as he stood to his full height. Smiling benignly, he explained, "It's shocking how few women can hold it."

* * *

**End Note: **This set of drabbles was written for the Live Journal community fanfic(underscore)bake-off, a multi-fandom drabble contest that limits all entries to 100-300 words. Their Secret Ingredient for June 2010 was Token, and the above drabbles are 291, 169, 300, 206, 297, 271, and 281 words respectively. This month, there was a bonus added for dialogue-only drabbles, which is why Chapter 8 is what it is. Posted on June 13, 2010.


	4. Favors and Foreigners

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection of moments... especially for the unhappy one. I doff my cap to Tensai Okamura, who's responsible for the memorable characters in _Darker than Black_.

**Author's Note: **I simply couldn't resist updating this story on November 11, 2011. Please enjoy!

* * *

**Favors and Foreigners**

* * *

**- 14 -  
Trade-Off**

Section Chief Misaki Kirihara couldn't fathom how November 11's brief meddling in her most recent case translated into a full-scale personnel swap, but her orders were clear: accompany Agent Jack Simon of MI6 on his mission. She cast a sidelong glance at the nattily-dressed British agent in the seat next to hers. Although Kirihara knew he was normally partnered with another contractor whose codename was April, there was no sign of either her or the boy called July. _It seems to be just the two of us._

"Agent Simon," she tried again, her impatience lending a sharpness to her tone. "The briefing?"

Icy blue eyes held a trace of amusement. "All in good time, Misaki."

Her lips thinned at his familiarity, but she'd given up correcting him, holding onto a dim hope that if she stopped complaining, he'd stop teasing her. Serious brown eyes scanned the otherwise empty cabin of the small plane, but nothing gave her any indication what their undisclosed destination might be... or what her undisclosed role in his plans would entail. _I'm beginning to think this is all an elaborate ruse to... to what? _With a shake of her head, she dismissed the very idea. A contractor _always_ acted rationally. If she was here, then Agent Simon needed her for something.

* * *

**- 15 -  
Foreign Affairs**

Misaki stared blankly at the menu card, hopelessly lost, and Jack Simon graciously inquired, "Shall I translate?"

"Please," she accepted, though her tone didn't thank him. The restaurant was elegant, and its clientele were elite. _Couldn't we have eaten dinner someplace more inconspicuous?_ Her frustrations mounted, for she was still utterly in the dark, and she couldn't voice her annoyance, not when every waiter and busboy seemed to lean closer every time she opened her mouth.

"How do you feel about dressed lamb?" Jack inquired.

"That's _not_ what I want," she replied tersely.

"Very well," her replied, lifting his hand to call over a waiter. Once the meal was ordered, the blond man calmly changed seats, slipping into the one beside her and draping his arm behind her. "Play along, Misaki," he crooned. "They're under the impression that you're nothing more than a pretty face, and I'd like to encourage the underestimation."

His request only put her more on edge, and she leaned away from him. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"Apparently, I'm taking on the role of spurned lover," he replied with an easy smile. "So I must woo you back into my good graces... and take you to my room. Then, I can explain."

She might have thought it a cheap ploy if it weren't for the deadly serious expression in his eyes. Nodding curtly, she muttered, "I don't like this one bit."

"Neither do I, Misaki." With a casual glance that took in every corner of the room, he quietly added, "Bear with me, and we may survive."

* * *

**- 16 -  
Trek**

The last thing Kirihara had expected from her fastidious partner was a plan that forced him out of his formal wear. Agent Simon had traded his three-piece suit for sturdy garments in hues that blended in with their barren surroundings. Just before dawn, she and Jack had been dropped off on the edge of a dusty road with little more than a pack, a map, and a compass. The 'gentleman' had taken possession of the latter two, leaving her the former. Struggling gamely under the weight of their luggage, Kirihara wondered aloud, "Am I here in place of a mule?"

He spared her an amused glance, and she caught a glimpse of her reflection in his sunglasses—sweat and sunscreen gleaming on her flushed face. "April couldn't come, and I needed backup."

"So you pulled a few strings?"

"I can be very scary when I want to be," he obliquely replied.

After a couple hours of steady trudging, Kirihara's tank top clung damply to her skin under a loose shirt that had already taken on some of the dinginess of the dust they kicked up. By contrast, her 'partner' looked as dapper as ever, and she wondered if he was tapping into his icy abilities to keep cool.

_Contrasts_, she mused. The upscale hotel they'd checked into the day before had also seemed out of place in its environs, a maze of close quarters that stank under the sweltering sun. Kirihara determinedly placed one booted foot in front of the other on a narrow trail and chose to look on the bright side. As far as she was concerned, the clear, dry air translated as an improvement... even if she was walking straight into danger.

* * *

**End Note: **This set of drabbles was written for the Live Journal community fanfic(underscore)bake-off, a multi-fandom drabble contest that limits all entries to 100-300 words. Their Secret Ingredient for November 2011 was Translate, and the above drabbles are 215, 264, and 284 words respectively. Posted on November 11, 2011. I'll continue this arc as time allows... hopefully, later today! ::twinkle::


	5. Danger and Disadvantages

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection of moments... especially for the disadvantaged one. I doff my cap to Tensai Okamura, who's responsible for the memorable characters in _Darker than Black_.

* * *

**Danger and Disadvantages**

* * *

**- 17 -  
Undisclosed Location**

They stopped to rest in the scanty shade of a scrubby bush, and Kirihara practically dove into the pack. Opening one of the dozens of water bottles that weighed her down, she gratefully drank the tepid liquid. She was tempted to splash her face and neck, but in this dry land, it seemed too precious a commodity. Instead, she poked through the other items in the pack, rolling her eyes when she discovered that the only other items were cigarettes and matches.

"Hungry?" Jack inquired, reaching past her to take water for himself.

Kirihara paused in the act of pinning up long, brown hair so her customary ponytail would stop sticking to her neck. The British agent was watching her over the top of his sunglasses, and she wondered if his assessment translated into concern... or if he was actually enjoying her discomfort. "_Is_ there anything to eat?"

"Side pocket," he directed, tossing the map and compass into the main compartment. Crouching beside her, he nodded towards the low rise just ahead. "We've come up behind them."

"Them?" she questioned. "I thought you said this was an abandoned facility."

November 11 hummed doubtfully. "This little rendezvous has been one bad idea after another. A suspicious man might think he wasn't expected to survive."

She mentally reviewed the contractor's briefing from the night before. _A solo mission into an environment that puts his contract abilities at a severe disadvantage... hmm. _Frowning deeply, she asked, "A trap?"

"Quite possibly."

"Then why did you accept the mission?"

"Orders," he shrugged. "Curiosity."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she demanded, "Are me or my department being targeted as well?"

"No, no... you're here at _my_ request."

"Why?" she demanded.

"_Because_, Misaki," he replied with a humorless smile. "I would prefer to survive."

* * *

**- 18 -  
Rationale**

They slowly worked their way around to the entrance, which was little more than a dark square against buff sand and stone. Jack was taking every precaution, for the whole mission had a sour feel. Some of it was environmental. He hated arid places, for the heat wicked all the moisture from around his body, leaving him dry and vulnerable. The rest translated to occupational hazards. A contractor's existence often boiled down to kill or be killed.

"Why me?" Kirihara suddenly demanded, all seriousness as usual.

Grateful to be pulled from darker musings, he answered, "Why not?"

"There _must_ be a reason," she persisted.

"Naturally," he conceded.

Her dressing-down glare entertained him more than it should have. Of all the strings he could have pulled, he'd chosen the one that would place her at his side because Misaki's motives suited his agenda. Jack knew all to well how fragile life could be, yet she had set herself up as a protector of lives. _Even mine._

* * *

**End Note: **This set of drabbles was written for the Live Journal community fanfic(underscore)bake-off, a multi-fandom drabble contest that limits all entries to 100-300 words. Their Secret Ingredient for November 2011 was Translate, and the above drabbles are 298 and 165 words respectively. Posted on November 12, 2011.


	6. Wit and Warfare

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection of moments... especially for the serious one. I doff my cap to Tensai Okamura, who's responsible for the memorable characters in _Darker than Black_.

* * *

**Wit and Warfare**

* * *

**- 19 -  
Tongue in Cheek**

Kirihara's nerves were raw by the time they reached the entrance. Contractors were powerful, unpredictable killers; even with her whole team behind her, it was difficult to take one down. She couldn't imagine why November 11 thought her presence worked in his favor, but maybe he knew something she didn't. All she could do was keep her eyes open and her wits about her... and hope that _her_ contractor was stronger than his opponents.

A small plaque gleamed dully against dusty stone, riveted to the wall beside the door, however, she couldn't read it and glanced curiously at her companion. Jack caught her meaning and helpfully translated, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

She blinked. "That's rather bleak."

"Misaki," he gently chided. "I'm kidding."

"Oh." Feeling foolish, she ventured. "What _does_ it say?"

Without batting an eye, the agent replied, "No Solicitation."

* * *

**- 20 -  
Quick Learner**

"This place is suspiciously lacking in natural resources. I'm not even sure April could have pulled enough moisture from the air to keep me supplied."

"That's why you brought so much drinking water," Kirihara realized.

"Very good!" Jack praised, though there was a heavy dose of patronization in his tone. Relieving her of her pack, he extracted one of the empty water bottles and used a penknife to pare away the top. Handing Kirihara the makeshift cup, he opened a new bottle and half-filled it. "Let's play a little game."

"That's _hardly_..."

"Let's say that _I_ am a dashingly handsome fellow, and _you_ are the innocent maiden I successfully seduced," he interrupted. She gaped at him, and he cheerfully continued, "I enjoyed the pleasure of your company for as long as my interest held, but behaving like the cad I am, I've dropped you, breaking your fragile heart. Just now, we've come unexpectedly face to face at a party, and I have my latest conquest clinging to my arm."

Kirihara's confusion gave way to annoyance. "I'd _never_...!"

"Use your imagination, Misaki," he coaxed. "There is a point, after all!"

"Get to it," she growled.

"Hoping to drive you away, I offer several thinly-veiled insults until finally... you snap." With a slightly mocking smile, Jack instructed, "Embrace that fury and throw your drink into my face." Without hesitation, she flung the liquid in his direction. November 11 leaned to one side, avoiding the stream, and deftly caught what had become a wicked spiral of glittering ice. "And _there's_ the point."

Kirihara was surprised how reassuring she found the murderous glint in Jack Simon's eye. November 11 wasn't going down without a fight, and neither was she.

* * *

**- 21 -  
Bucket Brigade**

_He was right._ Kirihara suspected he often was. They'd reached a highly restricted area several stories underground when they were attacked. The enemy contractor used fire, and his flame-throwing abilities sent them scrambling for cover.

Patting irritably at singed hair, Jack pushed her ahead of him along narrow aisles in a cavernous storeroom before choosing a niche and shoving her into it. "Stay here. I'll be there," he announced briskly, pointing to the neighboring shelving unit. "Be ready."

Her hands trembled as she readied their meager resources, and she dropped a half-filled bottle back into the bag in her haste. Its contents glugged away, forming a puddle in the bottom of the pack. _No use crying over it._ Grimly grabbing the next, she plunged on. Flames burst overhead, ice crystals shocked her senses at intervals, insults she couldn't translate were flung, and Kirihara soon fell into a mindless pattern of pouring, flinging, and tossing aside empty bottles. For the time being, all she could do was feed ammunition to a man who was often treated as a living weapon.

* * *

**- 22 -  
Empty Victory**

Kirihara gingerly peeled off her outer shirt in order to check for damage, wincing as the scorched cloth scraped across tender burns. The only sound in the echoing storeroom was the drip-drop of melting ice... and their ragged breathing. November 11 watched her with an expression she couldn't translate, so she chose to ignore it. His exhausted slump and battered knuckles hinted at just how brutal the fight had become before her companion had managed to lay a hand on his opponent. Like the Midas touch... snuffing out a life just by making contact. Kirihara blinked when she realized that the British agent was beckoning to her with a curl of his fingers.

"Bring the pack," he directed wearily.

"There's a little water," she offered, handing over the bag. He shook his head, then stared at its contents with a curiously blank expression. First, he fished out his sodden package of cigarettes, extracting a crumpled specimen and placing it between his lips. "You want to smoke _now_?" she asked in exasperation. The acrid smell of burned dust and blackened paint already hung thick in the air.

Jack Simon's hands shook slightly as he fished out the box of matches, the saturated cardboard coming apart when he attempted to open it. The long wooden matches scattered on the floor around him, too wet to light. "July usually carries spares for me... just in case," he announced dully.

"I don't understand," she groused, unnerved by his sudden gravity.

"My contract."

Kirihara sat back on her heels, eyes widening in sudden comprehension. Her voice dropped along with her stomach as she echoed, "Your contract."

* * *

**End Note: **This set of drabbles was written for the Live Journal community fanfic(underscore)bake-off, a multi-fandom drabble contest that limits all entries to 100-300 words. Their Secret Ingredient for November 2011 was Translate, and the above drabbles are 143, 285, 177, and 271 words respectively. Posted on November 13, 2011.


	7. Hot and Bothered

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection of moments... especially for the intimate one. I doff my cap to Tensai Okamura, who's responsible for the memorable characters in _Darker than Black_.

* * *

**Hot and Bothered**

* * *

**- 23 -  
The Contract**

"I hate smoking," Jack Simon said in a flat voice. "Filthy habit."

"Your contract. The cigarettes?" Kirihara knew every contractor had to fulfill their contract, some idiosyncratic duty they performed each time they tapped into their inhuman powers. They had no choice but to follow through. To fail was to die.

With a shaking finger, he pushed though the sodden matches. "I've often wondered what would happen if I didn't light up."

"Have you ever waited?"

"Never willingly," he replied with a humorless smile.

Kirihara fumbled through the matches, lining them up on the floor. "If we took them outside... let them dry..."

Jack caught her wrist and said, "Too little, too late."

It was a mistake. A stupid mistake that she could have prevented if she'd only _known_. Waterproof packaging. Back-up matches. Separate packs. But it was too late for finger-pointing, regrets, and perhaps for November 11. Chin up, gaze steady, she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

She blinked at his harsh tone.

Jack's grip on her wrist tightened painfully. "What part of this gives you sorrow? That you'll have to listen to me scream my way into oblivion? That my death will strand you here? That I might exact my revenge before the end?"

Kirihara covered his hand with hers. "That I killed my own partner."

The ice left Jack's gaze, and when he spoke again, there was a change in his tone. "I didn't realize you were the type to turn on a man when he's down."

"Wh-what?"

"How do you plan to put me out of my misery?"

She shook her head. "I put you _into_ this misery."

"Feeling guilty?" Jack inquired.

"Yes!"

He smiled lopsidedly. "I could use that against you."

Kirihara lowered her gaze and wondered if letting him use her would make her feel any better.

* * *

**- 24 -  
Last Wish**

"We should search," Misaki said, crossing to the opposite wall and peering through the window on one of the doors. "Cupboards, drawers, cabinets. Anything!"

November 11 wearily shook his head. "These people were thorough. It's safe to say I killed the only fire-starter in the facility. Or are you looking for an excuse to get away from me?"

"I'm trying to be _rational_."

With a sigh, he beckoned to her. "I was kidding about revenge. Come here, Misaki."

Returning to his side, she methodically went through the row of matches. One after another, she tried to strike them. Nothing sparked.

He watched her with a speculative expression.

In part to forestall whatever proposition he might be contemplating, she asked, "Are you going to die?"

"That's a distinct possibility." Jack asked, "Will you grant a dying man his last wish?"

"That's not entirely impossible."

He waved her closer, then grimaced at the look on her face. "Really, Misaki. You _could_ pretend."

Pretend that the man in front of her wasn't a cold-blooded killer? Or that he wasn't dying? Or that she had killed him? "You want _me_ to behave irrationally?" she challenged.

"I suppose I do." Jack reached up and touched her face, searching her eyes. "You're going to let me have my way. But under protest."

She glared at him, but she didn't argue. And he took that for permission.

His fingers grazed her cheek, and blue eyes flickered with an inhuman light. Kirihara gasped as a chill flitted over her skin, cooling her. "Don't!" she exclaimed. "Your contract...!"

"Broken once or twenty times, the cost will be the same," Jack replied.

Another burst of cold sent a shiver up and down her spine. Misaki wasn't sure if he was teasing her... tending to her burns... or testing her courage.

* * *

**- 25 -  
No Use Pretending**

Misaki's brave front was a thing of beauty. Guilt held her still long enough for Jack to press his lips to hers. Hardly a conquest,_ b_ut she let him taste victory. And it was bittersweet.

He'd grappled with his fascination for this woman, trying to assign it some rationale._ Always too stiff, too formal._ Her efficiency on the job made her predictable, dependable. She made a decent ally, but she was no contractor. The tears on her cheeks made that much obvious. Others had cried at the sight of him, weeping for the lives they were about to lose. But Misaki wasn't crying for herself. These tears were his. For him. "Will you miss me?" he asked.

She scowled a denial, but he didn't believe her. Not when she crawled closer, making it easier for him to take what she didn't want to give. "You saved my live," she said solemnly.

"Guilt _and_ gratitude." With a soft cluck of his tongue, he chided, "Never give such powerful weapons to contractors. They're apt to use them."

"If I was useful, you wouldn't be dying."

Jack shook his head in wonder. She knew what he was, yet she afforded him the respect due a mission partner. He wanted to mess up her hair, steal her glasses, and coax a smile onto these lips. And if he could ignore the demand of his contract long enough, maybe the memory of him would forever after give this extraordinary woman goose bumps.

But before he could prey upon her vulnerabilities, she took advantage of his distraction and undignified slouch. The contractor rebelled when she knelt over him. There were half a dozen ways to kill a man in his position. But Misaki rested her forehead against his, eyes shut, lashes wet, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Jack."

The intimacy demanded a return in kind. Lifting away her glasses, he replied, "What's shocking is that you actually mean it, Section Chief Kirihara."

And then he comforted her with kisses. His light touches mingled with her whispered apologies. The exchange was far from erotic, yet his heart was pounding. _She's not pretending._ He couldn't decide if she was trying to kiss it better or kiss him goodbye. Either way, it was clear that she didn't want him to die. It made him want to live.

* * *

**- 26 -  
Grasping at Straws**

While she was no expert on kisses, Kirihara felt a shift in Jack's. He demanded more with a gentle urgency that was impossible to deny. Some distant part of her brain squawked against her lack of professionalism. She was in the arms of a killer who had the means, motive, and opportunity to end her life. But as he pulled her body more firmly against his, she ignored the dangers.

This was more than a little mixed up, but the man's confidence sparked her curiosity. Maybe she would have fended him off for years. Maybe she would have given in eventually. But those possibilities were no longer there. All that was left was now. He would die. Her chances weren't much better. _It's completely irrational..._ Pulling back, she focused on icy eyes that flickered red just long enough to send a chill down her spine. "Why?"

His eyebrows lifted. "Having second thoughts?"

"This isn't rational," Kirihara said.

November 11's tone twisted ironically. "Because pleasure cannot possibly be an end in itself?"

"Is it?"

"Spoken like a woman who's never let slip the bonds of restraint." The contractor calmly inquired, "Are you accusing me of entertaining emotions? Or pausing to remind yourself that I have none?"

"I have no such illusions," she muttered.

He brushed battered knuckles along the curve of her cheek. "Clear-sighted. Fair-minded. And capable of clinical analysis despite my best efforts at distraction." Tangling his fingers in her hair, Jack brushed his lips across hers. "You're too clever for your own good."

Kirihara had no defense for his next onslaught. Jack's hands strayed, and his kisses took on a wildness that steadily loosened her restraint. And a button or two. And then his hands were in her hair, searching for the pins that confined it.

Jack jerked to a stop. "Oh," he whispered, kissing her earlobe. "Oh, _Misaki_."

* * *

**- 27 -  
Undying Gratitude**

Kirihara had never heard her name uttered with such tenderness. It sent her heart skipping like a schoolgirl's even though she knew better than to let it go to a man like Jack Simon. Reining in wayward emotions, she found the contractor searching her face with an expression that combined amusement and elation. "What?" she asked, confused to find the cockiness back in his smile.

"You'll be the death of me, Misaki. But not today."

At the first tug, recollection slammed into her, and she covered her mouth with both hands. By the time Jack sent her hair tumbling around her shoulders, he had three precious chances at life in the palm of his hand. It had taken that many of the wooden matchsticks to anchor her hair earlier. "I forgot," she said weakly.

"An oversight I am willing to overlook in favor of locating a cigarette."

She lunged for the abandoned pack. Jack fumbled out the least bedraggled cigarette and placed it between his lips. Kirihara held her breath as he struck the first match. Fire bloomed. Not until the man exhaled a slow trickle of smoke did she whisper, "Are you safe?"

"Few consider my kind _safe_, Misaki. But yes." Taking another puff, he confirmed, "This fulfills my contract."

Which changed everything. No more guilt. And now that she'd saved his life, neither of them owed the other a debt of gratitude. _We're back where we started. _

With a cool smile, he remarked, "You almost look disappointed."

Easing away from him, Kirihara shook her head. "I'm glad."

He caught her by her hair, stopping her retreat. "You already used up your second thoughts, Misaki."

* * *

**End Note: **While I'm a day late posting this installment, I spent many spare moments throughout November 11, 2013 working on this story. It was a pleasure to reread the collection and revisit these characters. There'll be one more installment in this story arc. Posted on 11-12-13. Thanks for reading! ::twinkle::


End file.
